Making mirrors
by Arches67
Summary: As he bleeds to death, Neal ponders about his life.


A/N. I haven't written White Collar fan fiction for a while now (crossover notwithstanding), and probably won't anymore now that the show is over. I was "cleaning up" and found this piece. This had been sitting in my computer since 2012. I decided to brush it up, finish it and submit it. Not my usual type of writing, probably the reason I had given up on it.

The first time I listened to Gotye's album "Making mirrors" it instantly made me think of White Collar (don't ask me why… although seeing Matt Bomer sing the main title in Glee may have something to do with it). English is a second language to me, so I need to really listen to the lyrics if I want to understand. As I listened, it felt like so many of the verses seemed to talk about the relationships and characters in the show, that I needed to share that with others. Just copying the lyrics wouldn't have done it, so I tried to write down what the verses suggested to me. Not easy since it's really on a "feeling" level, so the story is quite weird.

See this as a dream or hallucination from Neal as he is dying (sort of, this is not a death fic).

Not Beta'd.

Let me know what you think of this.

_Message to my French readers: this story will not be translated into French, sorry._

* * *

><p><em>"So this is the end of the story<br>Everything we had, everything we did  
>Is buried in dust<br>And this dust is all that's left of us  
>And only a few ever worried"<em>

Alone…

Bleeding to death alone in a cemetery.

That's not how he ever thought he would die. Well, he had never thought he would die. When you're a con, you even con yourself that you are indestructible; that whatever the fall you'll always end up on your feet like a cat… a cat burglar…

Not anymore. Not since he had struck that deal with Peter. Best thing in his life… and the reason it was so unfair that he would now have to be alone to die.

He could feel the cold of the marble stone seeping in his bones, and the warmth of the blood pooling in his back. Funny, there wasn't pain… yet… or anymore… he was having some trouble keeping track of time.

* * *

><p><em>"Dreamt of a doorway<br>That opened to everything  
>And I'm reaching towards it<br>Drifting backwards"_

_Oh, there's the light._ Guess it was true then…

No! Wait!

He has not ready to go yet… Let him remember a bit first…

* * *

><p><em>"Now and then I think of when we were together<br>Like when you said you felt so happy you could die  
>Told myself that you were right for me"<em>

Red hair spilled over his pillow…

Full lips on a glass of champagne…

Sara…

Sweet Sara…

Spending her week-end perusing over old papers and pictures…

Smiling at his foil swan as it danced in the air…

Soft morning light in the loft, as she wore his shirt and hat for all clothes…

The happy times… When he was foolish enough to believe he may have found love again, even when he had thought that after Kate's death his heart had been shattered forever.

Crazily shopping to spend a fortune… the laughs, the fun, the intimacy.

The nights of endless love under the stars. It was a good thing that June never went to the terrace during the night…

* * *

><p><em>"You know I never want to let you down<br>It cuts me up to see you sad  
>And I wish that I could undo what I've done<br>Give back the faith in me you had"_

_"Neal, I saw the treasure"_

Sara's sad eyes.

Feeling betrayed… but she had always known who he was… she had always known he had the Rafael…

He had wanted to give her the life she deserved. A life in the clouds, with no earthly bothers…

But who was he conning now?

He had had the island and the paradise and yet he had felt empty, missing his life. He had abandoned the island and came back. Holding Peter in that embrace, there was joy and pain. Glad to see him again, sad because the dream was over.

Paradise island was like Neverland, meant for the kids and then, one day, you needed to grow up and leave the nursery…

* * *

><p><em>"Brain-dead from boredom<br>I'm led to distraction  
>Scratching the surface of life<br>Nothing really happens  
>But it's easy to keep busy<br>When you tell yourself you're travelling right"_

_"The con is a rush"_ he had told Peter and once you've pulled the biggest one of all, when you had your white whale, what happened to the rush? There was no end to the rush, it needed to be fed, more powerful than the deadliest drug, you always needed more… until you died.

_"You need to hit rock bottom"._ It hadn't happened to him… He did crash on that marble stone, so maybe this was the end… not the one he was hoping for… there were still places he wanted to visit, friends he would have loved to say goodbye to before leaving…

* * *

><p><em>"You're a fraud and you know it<br>But it's too good to throw it all away  
>Anyone would do the same<br>You've got 'em going  
>And you're careful not to show it<br>Sometimes you even fool yourself a bit  
>It's like magic"<em>

_"Hi, I'm Nick Halden"_

_"Call me Georges"_

_"Vic, Vic Moreau"_

_"Gary Ridell, world class fencer…"_

_"Danny… James… New-York…"_

Who was he really?

Who was Neal Caffrey?

Even in his real life he had changed his name to use his mother's maiden one.

Would there come a time when he wouldn't be able to tell the difference anymore?

* * *

><p><em>"It's hard<br>The world can lead you so astray  
>It gets harder<br>It's hard just to keep the faith"_

Alone in a room full of treasures.

Works of art no one had seen in over half a century, riches like no king could envision. Knowing what no one else does, when everyone thinks it had been destroyed. Of course Peter had doubts –that damn piece of canvas- but it was his. How can you accept to keep the anklet and a two miles radius when you can have all the world at your finger tips?

* * *

><p><em>"Didn't want to fail myself again<br>Running through all the options  
>And the endings<br>Were rolling out in front of me  
>But I couldn't choose a thread to begin"<em>

Peter, standing on the stairs, facing Kramer.

The minute gesture with his head and the hardest decision in his life.

Forced to choose running when he finally didn't want to run anymore.

* * *

><p><em>"And you gave me love<br>When I could not love myself  
>And you made me turn<br>From the way I saw myself  
>And you're patient, love<br>And you help me help myself"_

_"Why did you want to stay?" "For you…"_

_"I have a life here"_

After a lifetime of hiding, either in witness protection or as a con, he had stepped into the light. He was doing good things, helping people…

He would choose between the con and the man.

* * *

><p><em>"Do you need a reminder<br>Of the love that we gave you?  
>Don't worry<br>You're walking away  
>But we'll always be watching you"<em>

He was still in the cemetery, but this time the sun was shining and people were around a coffin. Their heads were bowed.

June and Sara had their arms around each other but it was difficult to tell who was holding who. Tears were running down their faces and they looked like they would crumble to the ground if the slightest breeze blew on them.

Diana was holding Christie's hand, so hard her knuckles were white and it was clear on Christie's face that it hurt, but she kept an arm around her shoulders supporting her lover.

Mozzie, wearing black glasses, was close to Jones, his face dark. Mozzie in the midst of the whole FBI tribe, well that was something…

Elizabeth was sobbing on Peter's shoulder; he had his arm around her supporting and comforting her. His face was blank, as if he hadn't yet registered what was going on, or maybe refusing to accept the situation. Or maybe he was mad at him because he had died. _"Sorry Peter, I didn't mean to die…"_

* * *

><p><em>"We will be with you<br>When you're leaving  
>We will be with you<br>When you go  
>We will be with you<br>And hold you till you're quiet  
>It hurts to let you go"<em>

Slowly the people disappeared, not just walked away, dissolved into thin air, as if he had closed his eyes a brief second and they had vanished. Only Peter was left, standing by the rectangle shaped hole, the coffin at the bottom, some dirt and flowers upon it.

"You had no right to leave Neal…" Peter said. "You still belong to me…"

His voice cracked and he seemed to push tears away. He put his hand to his pocket and took the anklet. The green light was blinking. Peter looked at the light for a few minutes then threw the anklet on the coffin.

"I'll be watching."

* * *

><p><em>"When I'm in your light<br>All of this is clear  
>If only I could always be just as I am right here<br>When I'm in your light, just when I'm in your light  
>And I won't get by if you take that light away"<em>

A wide expanse of white puffy clouds.

His feet on some transparent bluish surface.

Calm and quiet, peaceful.

A serenity like he had never felt before, all the darkness and bitterness of the world thousands of years from the place.

Love and forgiveness…

Did he really belong here? He had never really much thought about after life. His daily life usually kept him busy enough. This was Paradise, not some sunny island on the African coast with unlimited wealth. He could feel the peace radiate from the air, it felt wonderful.

"Neal…"

"Peter?" he looked around; no one was there.

The light swirled. Peter was there… and not there. White, ghost like, the edges blurred.

"You can't be here Peter…. I'm dead…" Neal was suddenly scared. "You can't be dead. They need you."

"_We_ need you… Come back…"

Neal looked around him. "It's nice here…"

He felt the love of the place calling at him.

"Yes, and that's why you need to stay with us."

"I'm dead…"

"Not yet, you can still come back."

"But this …" He opened his arm to encompass the space around him.

"Is the love inside our hearts, our love for you."

Neal frowned, extended his hand to touch Peter. The light moved like smoke in the air, he couldn't touch him.

The ghost melted away and Neal reached his hand to catch him. The clouds began to drift, taking away the peace, the love, the light…

He wanted them, he wanted the light…

Shadows were now engulfing the expanse; the cold was sipping from the ground… _Peter…_

"Peter!" he screamed opening his eyes.

"Hey…" Soft brown eyes were looking at him, worried, but a soft smile came to the lips.

"You came for me…"

Then the world of shadows vanished and reality struck him. So hard he couldn't even scream his pain, his eyes wide with agony he felt he hand press his fingers, then darkness engulfed him.

* * *

><p><em>"We will be with you<br>You will stay with us"_

Neal woke up several times but it was always fuzzy and brief. Most of the times he remembered seeing Peter, sometimes El. He thought he saw Mozzie once… dressed up as a nurse. A couple of times the pain came back blinding but it always vanished fast and he let himself go back to those wonderful puffy clouds that were so comfortable.

This time as he woke up, the fuzziness seemed less heavy. He blinked a couple of times and turned his head to some ruffle. Peter was sitting by the window reading. The monitors he was hooked up to must have given a warning because Peter lifted his head from his book and looked at him with a smile. He remained silent and Neal wondered if he was supposed to say something. He settled for something safe.

"Hey..."

"Hey yourself…" Peter answered, his smile increasing as he rose and came to the bed. "How do you feel? You want me to call a nurse?"

Neal didn't answer.

"Neal?" This time the voice was tinged with worry.

"You came for me." Neal said.

"You keeping saying that."

"I do?"

"Every time you woke up."

"I don't remember…"

"I'm not surprised. You've been pretty out of it for a while. You gave us quite a scare, you know."

"Sorry…" Neal said.

He hadn't wanted him to be worried, after all he had come for him. "Thank you."

"For?"

"I was dead and you came to get me."

Peter frowned, apparently Neal wasn't as awake as it seemed, but he played along. "I couldn't let you go, I still own you for two years."

"That's why you buried the anklet with me? So you could follow me anywhere I went?"

Peter frowned again; he would need to discuss those weird dreams. But for now, the important part was keeping him calm.

"Neal, you can't run away from me. I'll always find you… anywhere you go."

Neal seemed to ponder this for a moment.

"You know the Thousandth Man?"

"Kipling's poem?" Peter had given up at trying to understand Neal's train of thought.

"Yeah…"

"The main lines. _'One man in a thousand, Solomon says'_…." Peter started.

"will stick more close than a brother…" Neal smiled softly at Peter. "Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend / On what the world sees in you… / but the Thousandth Man will stand by your side, / To the gallows-foot —and after!" The last words came as a low whisper.

"Nuh huh," Peter said shaking in head. "And bring you back… " he corrected with a smile.

Neal chuckled as he let the wonderful clouds of light surround him again. He knew Peter would be standing there when he woke up again.

* * *

><p>The end<p>

I know, weird…

Let me know what you think of this.


End file.
